Nora Roberts: High Noon

"She's fine. You know she's fine."

"Why doesn't he do something? When the hell is he going to do something?"

"I don't know, honey. But I gotta do something. I gotta pee." There were murmured agreements, even a few weak laughs. "I'll ask," Loo said.

"No, let me. Motherly type might have better luck. Mister!" Ma called out before Loo could object. "Hey, mister! Some of us here need to use the facilities."

They'd called out to him before and been ignored. But this time he turned, the phone in his hand, and looked at Ma with dead eyes. "Been hours now," she reminded him. "Unless you want a big puddle down here, you're going to have to let us use the bathroom."

"You'll have to hold it awhile longer."

"But-"

He raised the gun. "If I put a bullet in you, you won't be worried about pissing. Now shut up."

He'd had a schedule, and he'd slipped up. Hour three break was when he'd meant to shuffle the hostages, one by one, into the toilet. Whether they wanted to go or not. But he'd forgotten, and now it was time to make the call, goddamn it. So they'd hold it until the next break, or they'd piss themselves.

Fuck them.

"What if I want ten million dollars?" he said to Phoebe. "Do you want ten million dollars, Jerry?"

Listen to her, he thought, butter wouldn't fucking melt. "Let's toss it out there, kick it around."

"All right. What do I get for the ten million if I can get that for you?"

"I don't shoot a hostage in the head."

"Well now, that's a negative response, Jerry. You know if I could, and I can't promise I can, but if I could convince my superiors to approve that ten million, there'd have to be a more positive quid pro quo."

"What if I said for ten million, I'd think about releasing the female hostages."

"You'd consider releasing the women if I can offer ten million? That's worth talking about."

"I bet it is."

"The thing is, Jerry, you've got an injured man in there, too. You did tell me Arnold Meeks was injured."

He looked down where Arnie slumped, dried blood on his face, tape slapped over his mouth. And explosives strapped on his body. "He's had better days."

"Before I can approach anyone about the money, I have to be assured that Arnold Meeks is alive, and his injuries aren't life-threatening. You know who his daddy is, Jerry. I've got some pressure on me here."

"Cocksucker's alive."

"I appreciate you assuring me he's alive, but I'd have more muscle if

I could hear him tell me himself. If I can pass along I've heard his voice, they'll get off my back and you and I can concentrate on the important business."

"Fine."

He set down the phone, stepped over, leaned down and ripped the tape from Arnie's mouth. Arnie's blackened, bloodshot eyes rolled up. "Say hi to Phoebe, asshole." Walken snatched the phone, held it to Arnie's ear. And jammed the barrel of the gun under Arnie's jaw. "Say this: Hi, Phoebe, I'm the cowardly asshole who kicked your murdering ass down the stairs."

Arnie's eyes, full of rage and terror, stayed on Walken's as he repeated the statement.

"What are your injuries?" Phoebe demanded. "How bad are you hurt?"

Arnie moistened his lips. "She wants to know about my injuries."

"You go on and tell her, fuckhead."

"He pistol-whipped me across the face. I think my cheekbone's busted. I'm cuffed, and he's got a goddamn bomb strapped to me."

"Is it on a timer? Is it-"

"That'll be enough," Walken told her. "Now about that ten million."

"You want ten million dollars to release the hostages."

"Ten million to release the female hostages."

"Ten million to release the women. How many women are there, Jerry?"

"Eleven. That's less than a million a head. Hell of a deal."

"Eleven women, who you'd release if I can offer you ten million dollars?"

"Stop fucking echoing. I know the drill."

"Then you know that I'd have a stronger chance of getting you what you want after a show of faith. If you'd release some of the hostages now, including any of those injured or with medical conditions, I'd try damn hard to get you that ten million."

"Ah, screw ten million. Let's make it twenty."

"You're yanking my chain, Jerry."

He let out a laugh. "I thought about killing you, Phoebe. A thousand times."

"If you thought about it, why didn't you do it?"

"A thousand ways. A bullet in the brain. Much too clean. Grabbing you like I did Roy, doing you like I did him. But I don't like repeating myself. Beating you to death, or keeping you alive for days, just putting holes in you. But then it'd be over for you, like it is for Angie. You don't deserve what she got. How about this, you come on in here. Just you, and I let them all go. Every one of them."

"You know they won't let me do that."

"You come in, seventeen people live."

"You'd trade all the hostages for me. Is that a real offer, Jerry, or are you yanking me again?"

"You won't do it. You're nothing but talk."

"But if I would?"

"They wouldn't let you. You think I'm stupid? You think I've forgotten how it works?"

"I don't, but have you forgotten that you've got Sergeant Meeks's son in there, injured. He's got pull. Is it a real offer, Jerry? Me for all seventeen?"

"I'll think about it. But you're going to do something else first."

"What else would you like me to do?"

"You're going to go out there, in front of all the cameras. You're going to give a statement on how you killed Angela Brentine. How you're responsible for her death. How you cared more about running your mouth and playing big shot than saving her life."

"You want me to speak to the press, Jerry, give a statement about the death of Angela Brentine?"

"You're going to say exactly what I tell you to say, exactly when I tell you to say it. Then we'll see about the money and the hostages." He hung up.

Before she could rise, Duncan pulled her right out of her chair. "If you even think about trading yourself, I'll knock you out, lock you up until you get your senses back."

"You thought about it when it was you."

"It's my mother in there, the only one I've ever really had. And screw this, I'm not debating or arguing, or anything else. You're not going near that building."

"Chill out," Sykes ordered. "She's not trading herself. We don't work that way." He looked hard at Phoebe. "Not ever. This isn't Hollywood."

"You bought it." She jabbed a finger at Duncan, then at Sykes. "You know better, but you bought it. I promise you he did. He wasn't expecting me to consider it. He was screwing with me again, and I threw him off by giving the demand any credence. He bought it, he's thinking about it. What he wanted, expected, was to get me to agree to make the statement. Or to refuse. I do either, it's over. That's what he's waiting for, my public confession. But now he's thinking what it would be like if I came inside. If he had me in there. So how do we use it?"

"Show of faith," Sykes said.

"That's first. Get him to release some of the hostages-and before there's any agreement or refusal on the statement. Because that was his green light. We stall. Put us on the same side on this issue. I want to go make the statement, but they're dicking around on it. I want to go in, but they're stonewalling. I'm trying to work it so he gets what he wants. I'm frustrated because it's taking so long to get the go on it. He's used to following a plan, an outline." She looked at Vince.

"I guess, yeah. Ah, it's training. You have to adjust, sure, to think on your feet, but it's all within the outline. You train for variables. But he likes… order? I guess that's the word I want. He's not real impulsive. He'd rather figure it through."

"He's doing that now. Does he want to go through with his original plan-blow it all up, himself included, while I live, disgraced but breathing? Or, if he gets the opportunity, wouldn't he rather take it down to the two of us? The hostages aren't anything to him, but they're everything to me. That was the idea. But to be able to look me in the eyes when he sets off that bomb, that's going to be tempting."